


Fucking Mistletoe

by SaintAstra



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:26:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintAstra/pseuds/SaintAstra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker and Caboose try to bring about some Christmas cheer, but they have very different ways of going about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fucking Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Finished it just in time for Christmas! From a tumblr prompt.

Tucker is not stupid.

Wash is not stupid.

Which is precisely why when Wash spots Tucker grinning a little too mischievously, he knows something's up. It could be something little, but knowing his team, he has every right to be suspicious.

By the time he's done with his current work, Tucker has disappeared, which is the further proof that something's up. The former Freelancer finds Caboose as quickly as he can. He's sitting down in a corner and distractedly playing with some glittery bauble.

“Hey, Caboose?” he asks.

Caboose glances up at him and smiles. “Hi Agent Washington! What are you doing?”

“I came to ask you a question. Do you have any idea what Tucker's up to?”

Caboose pouts immediately. “No.” he says sulkily. “Tucker's really mean. I saw him looking through the ship but he wouldn't tell me what for!” he sighs. “Will you let me know what present he's getting?”

Wash frowns. “Present?”

“Well, yeah.” Caboose says with a 'duh' tone. “It's Christmas time!”

“Really?” Wash is dubious. Last week they'd tried to convince him it was Halloween so Tucker and Caboose could keep scaring everyone until Sarge got fed up and had Simmons and Grif scare them, and Wash intervened shortly after.

Dealing with a handful of screaming, yelling, and crying grown men covered in ridiculous costumes cobbled out of scraps from the ship supplies had not been Wash's ideal 'Halloween'. There hadn't even been any candy.

Caboose nods and goes back to fiddling with his toy, which Wash realizes is actually a Christmas ornament. A faceted, five-pointed star. It's bright blue and covered with glitter.

“Wash? Could we set up a Christmas tree?” His voice is decidedly quiet and meek, like a child's.

Wash really, really wants to say no, but Caboose had been so downtrodden lately. Maybe it would lift all their spirits – and it's not like anyone can deny Caboose when he gets that sad puppy look anyways.

“Sure. Just be really careful, okay? Wait for someone to help.”

He gets another 'duh' look. “It's not like we can set up a tree without everyone! Ooo, I'll go invite the Reds! We'll get the whole family to celebrate Christmas!” He clamors to his feet to go throw on his armor. “Bye Wash!”

“Bye, Caboose.”

Wash sighs heavily. He still has no further information on Tucker's scheme, and now he has to deal with the Reds and Caboose with a Christmas tree.

Great.

He can't find Tucker for the remainder of the day, and technically he'd finished the drills Wash had given him, so he can't even use that as an excuse to yell at him for his vanishing act.

Caboose has returned from the Reds and carrying a box of 'ornaments' (Wash hasn't checked to see if they're anything remotely resembling ornaments. He'll let it be a surprise.) to decorate the tree with, which they've all apparently decided to go out tomorrow and find.

To be honest, he's not even astonished that Caboose managed to convince them. He should be, but he's come to expect pretty much anything when it comes to this group. He's becoming numb to their insanity.

Wash trudges back to his makeshift room, still a little wary. He is startled when he sees Tucker leaning in the doorway with a rather smug grin on his face. His helmet is at his feet.

“Hey Wash.” he greets.

Wash narrows his eyes. “Tucker. What are you up to?”

“Nothing, man. I was out all day looking for Christmas stuff.”

Wash removes his own helmet so Tucker can see his annoyed glare, tucking the piece of armor under his arm and taking a step towards him. “Why is it I have trouble believing you?”

Tucker pushes off from the door frame, taking a step back into Wash's room. He's doing it on purpose, Wash can fucking tell.

“Tucker.” he growls, walking through the doorway. Tucker juts out his arm, halting his entry by firmly placing a finger on Wash's chest plate.

“Ah, ah, ah, Wash. Don't tell me you aren't aware of a certain Christmas tradition.”

Wash gets a sinking feeling and holds back an exasperated groan. “What tradition?” he asks.

Tucker takes his finger off Wash and points upwards, the grin on his face fit to burst.

Wash takes the bait and looks up, mouth dropping open.

Fucking mistletoe.

He quickly looks down to Tucker.

Tucker steps closer, and Wash doesn't back up. His heart is pounding and he's sure his cheekbones are on fire.

Tucker just leans forward and seals his mouth over Wash's like it's no big deal.

Wash closes his eyes, though he knows it's supposed to be a fleeting, chaste kiss, he has an idea that's really not what Tucker had in mind.

It's confirmed when Tucker keeps kissing him, heavily, but surprisingly sweet, no tongue or teeth just yet.

“ _Fuck it.”_ He decides, raising his hand to gently grasp Tucker's neck and pull him closer. Tucker takes that as an approval and wraps his arms around Wash's neck, threading his fingers through his cropped blond hair and sidling up to his body, pressed against him. Wash kisses him with more fervor as their armor clinks together, the wet sounds of their mouths sending heat rushing through his veins.

Wash tugs at Tucker's hair to tilt his head back and he moans into Wash's mouth, making a shiver run down Wash's spine and prickle at his skin, and fuck, this armor is stifling.

Tucker drags him into the room, gracelessly kicking the door shut and getting to work removing Wash's armor. Wash returns the favor, the pieces falling onto the floor carelessly as they kiss in between movements, never apart for more than a second.

Quickly they're down to the clothes they wear underneath, and Tucker can't help but run his fingers under Wash's shirt to glide along his stomach and back, relishing the way Wash shivers and squirms at his touch. Wash bites Tucker's lip, his own hands moving swiftly across his skin, nails lightly scraping. He works up to his chest, brushing his nipples. The moan Tucker lets out should be illegal, needy and hot, the lither man quivering a little as his legs threaten under the wave of pleasure.

Wash wants to do it again, but Tucker is yanking his shirt off, then his own, till their both bare chest, and Tucker latches onto Wash's hips and his mouth trails down his body, kissing every scar, every mark. Wash feels like he's going crazy from the opposite sensations, the heat of Tucker's mouth and the air cooling his saliva-slicked skin fritzing out his brain till he's a mess of shaky gasps and breathy moans.

Tucker's teeth lazily graze his hipbone and Wash can't help but roll his hips forward and gasp Tucker's name. Tucker slides his body against Wash's as he stands up, till they're mouth to mouth again. Wash slips his tongue into his mouth, and Tucker moans appreciatively, clutching at Wish's hips and grinding against him. Wash gasps and arches back, fuck, that feels so good, Tucker, please.

Tucker groans but he's smiling as Wash grabs his ass, desperately rutting their bodies together, “Fuck, Wash, I love it when you say my name like that.”

Oh, that last part was out loud. Oops.

He figures he should care a little more how easily he lets his control slip, but Tucker's always telling him to loosen up. This is probably the best way, he thinks as Tucker pulls his boxers down, and then his own. They're completely naked now, and Wash feels a shot of self-consciousness, especially with the sudden space between them both, but Tucker fixes that quickly, kissing him and letting his nails scrape painfully down Wash's back. Wash growls and moves his lips to Tucker's neck, biting and sucking in retaliation. If Tucker's going to mark him, he's going to claim him back.

“I'm going to kiss every part of you I can reach.” he breathes into Tucker's ear, his hot breath eliciting a deep, bone-aching shiver from Tucker. “And I'm going to make it so you can't even look at yourself without thinking of me.”

Tucker shudders and clutches at Wash's shoulders, standing on the balls of his feet so he can press his mouth to Wash's ear and whisper, “Fucking try.”

Wash all but tackles him onto the bed. 

* * *

 

The next morning, Tucker finds himself covered in bruises, light scratches, and plenty of bite marks. Wash really, really went to town on him. But Wash has his arms wrapped around his middle and his chest is against Tucker's back, warm and solid, and Tucker really can't bring himself to give a fuck.

Thank god for armor.

Wash sighs against his skin, nuzzling into Tucker's neck as he tightens his grip.

Tucker smiles, burying his face into a pillow while he waits for his heart to stop fluttering.

A knock on the door jolts both of them out of their daze.

“Wash! Wash! We've gotta go set up the Christmas tree with the Reds and I can't find Tucker!”

Tucker makes the decision before Wash can, and grumpily calls out. “I'm here, Caboose! We'll be out in a minute!”

He hears Caboose gasp. “Tucker! You're okay!” his voice drops a little. “Oh. You're okay.” he sounds far less excited when the statement sinks in.

Tucker smirks. “Love you too, fucktard.” he mutters under his breath.

Wash is climbing out of bed, pulling on his clothes and tossing Tucker his. “We'll be right out Caboose, you wait outside for us, okay?”

“Okay!” is the cheery reply, and Tucker buries his face back into the pillow once his clunky footsteps have faded.

His shirt hits the back of his head and he whines.

“Come on, Tucker. Apparently it's Christmas.”

“What if I was Jewish?”

“You're not, so it's a moot point.”

Tucker can't stop himself from grinning as he lazily stretches, idly examining the marks that have been left on his skin. He dressed quickly, and then they're both in their armor, no helmets on. He reaches for his but Wash intercepts, standing in front of it, a serious expression on his face.

“Tucker...What do we do?” he sounds so scared, and he is. This could fuck up everything.

Tucker takes Wash's hand, gently interlocking their fingers. “We go help Caboose find his stupid tree, make sure the Reds don't blow anything up while we decorate, and then I think we could do this again. As long as you want to.” he adds hastily, suddenly nervous as Wash.

Wash squeezes his hand reassuringly. “I don't know what this could turn into, but I'm willing to try if you are.” he says honestly.

Tucker bites his lip, smiling. “Yeah. I am.”

Wash returns his mile, so blindingly bright and joyful, and he leans in to press their lips together. It's chaste and sweet, an affirmation. Tucker pulls away and knocks their foreheads lightly together, his own genuine grin almost stealing the breath out of Wash's lungs.

Another loud knock makes them part. “Hurry up!” is Caboose's frantic shout, and Tucker can just picture him bouncing on his heels like an impatient child.

“We're ready, Caboose, hang on.” Wash placates him calmly, reaching over to hand Tucker his helmet and grab his own. They share one last look before putting on their helmets and heading out the door to a hyperactive Caboose.

He is indeed bouncing on his heels, clutching an ornament in his hands, and somehow he's got glitter all over him ( _“That'll be fun to clean.”_ Wash thinks sourly.) but the joy is clear as day, and he leads them outside to where the Reds have congregated and are arguing over which tree to cut down. There's boxes of ornaments and makeshift decorations, and Sarge has somehow rigged a set of twinkling lights.

“There you are!” is the gruff cry, “Now we can settle this once and for all!”

Wash bumps shoulders with Tucker and delves into his role as referee as the bickering gets louder. Tucker smirks behind his visor, picking up a plastic bit of mistletoe from one of the boxes and holding it up to the light.

Christmas may just be his new favourite holiday. 


End file.
